Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [7]
The tip of the proctor’s staff struck the ground a scant inch from the tip of his nose. Startled, Caelan jerked open his eyes.
The proctor bent over him. Truth-light rolled down the length of the staff, making it glow. Caelan thought he saw the carved faces of the wind spirits shift and grimace.
Gasping in alarm, he jerked himself up to a sitting position and winced with pain.
“You fear no wind spirits. You mock the rules of protection,” the proctor said, its voice hollow and not quite real. “You meet wind spirits.”
“No,” Caelan said in growing unease. He held up his hands and scrambled to his knees. “I’ve learned my lesson. Honest. Don’t—”
“More lies,” the proctor said sternly. It lifted the glowing staff over its head and swung it in a circle.
A gust of wind swirled around Caelan, dumping snow down his collar and making him shiver.
“Tonight you meet the wind. You learn.”
The proctor turned, but Caelan reached out in desperation and gripped the hem of its robe.
The cloth was scorching hot. With a cry, Caelan released it and shook his singed fingers.
“You can’t leave me outside all night,” he said in protest. “I’ll freeze to death.”
“Then lesson will be learned.” Without looking back, the proctor glided away and left him kneeling on the cold cobblestones.
Chapter Two
BY THE TIME Caelan managed to stagger to his feet and lurch forward, the proctor had vanished from sight.
Sharp pain stabbed through Caelan’s left knee every time he took a step. He could feel blood trickling down his leg, and his leggings were ripped.
Fresh resentment washed over him, but he pushed it away, determined to get inside the hall before the proctor locked him out. He wasn’t going to spend all night out here. They had no right to do that to him.
Limping and gasping, he hobbled past the main hall entry. The massive wooden doors with their elaborate carvings were always bolted shut at the conclusion of Quarl Bell. He didn’t waste time trying to get in that way. Instead, he limped around to the side door that he’d recommended to Agel.
It was locked.
He pushed on it with all his strength, then cursed and kicked it.
He tried the larder.
Locked.
He checked the stables, but they were firmly bolted. He knocked as loudly as he dared, but no one came.
The storage barns, harvest shed, and cider press were all secured. He could not gain entry to the servants’ quarters, and the only access to the tall stone building that housed the students was through the hall.
As for Elder Sobna’s small house, tucked up against the low wall of the kitchen garden ... impossible. He wasn’t about to seek refuge there.
Darkness—bleak and terribly cold—closed in around him. The wind cut harshly through his clothing. Shivering, he tucked his numb hands into his armpits and tried to pull his robe up over his head to protect his aching ears. It wasn’t enough.
They had to let him in, he kept reassuring himself. They couldn’t let him die of exposure out here. How would they explain it to his father?
His mind’s eye conjured up a scene of his father, grim and sorrowful, standing in Elder Sobna’s study. The Elder would be stroking his beard and shaking his head.
“The boy was always in trouble. Lax and disobedient, always breaking rules designed for his own protection. No one knew he’d slipped outside again. The poor boy simply froze to death. An unfortunate accident.”
Caelan’s anger came surging up hot and fierce. He wasn’t going to shiver out here, losing toes and the tips of his ears to frostbite. They thought he would pound on the doors and plead for forgiveness. They were trying to scare him into behaving.
But it wasn’t going to work.
Furiously, he circled the infirmary and classrooms. All the windows were shuttered firmly. The doors were locked tight.
No refuge anywhere.